


EIGHT.

by egoswollen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Child!Killian, F/M, In which Killian is literally a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem, Post-Liam, Post-Milah, and lots of other problems too, and somehow still very short, more flashbacks and forwards than in LOST tbh, obv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egoswollen/pseuds/egoswollen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian drinks to forget. </p><p>Things never really seem to go his way, as it only helps him remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	EIGHT.

**Author's Note:**

> it's five a.m. and i wrote this when I was half-asleep but I'll post it now before I back down — FIRST FIC PLEASE BE GENTLE (or not do whatever the hell you want.)

Hundreds of years later the hue in his eyes would be famously compared to the hint of blue present in blossomed forget-me-nots. There to remind us yet again that with his constant wit, inappropriate sense of morality and metallic appendage, Captain Hook was simply not one to be forgotten. 

It hadn't always been this way, of course. Legend says that once lived a child with eyes the color of rainy skies, eternally portraying the vulnerability he shared with his older sibling. There is so little you can are able to do when you're eight, though one shouldn't be able to realize it at such young age. But Mama was sick, and Papa was not a Papa at all. The only love young Killian ever saw from that man was the one he demonstrated when intoxicated to the very bottle that led him to the state. Said passion for refilled glasses and fuller bladders would be genetically passed on to a certain mourning lieutenant. Only on one occasion did it strike him later on; he was turning into his father — No, he wasn't a father, at all — Killian was becoming Gregory Jones, the very same man who had thought him what hate was. Not through theory but though actions. Violent actions he would later understand weren't right at all. An eight year old wouldn't understand, even if Liam had spelled it out for him. 

“ A-B-U-S-E, little brother. ” 

He was growing into the man who willingly (not even in a drunken stupor, the thankless bastard) dared take the decision of abandoning the women that gave everything to the three men in her life. She who gave until she had nothing else to give, only loving gazes from time to time when illness hadn't tired her out entirely. 

If he shut his eyes with the exact amount of determination, he could still see them clearly. The pigments of the flowers were faint, and some of their petals damaged. He wouldn't dare rip them out from the soil, so he'd pick out the own that had fallen on their own. If he gathered enough to make a bouquet and sold it, he just might be able to afford the sticky serum that helped Mama with her cough. Sure, the collars of her clothes were permanently crimson splattered — Blood was a bitch to remove from blouses, he learned on far too many occasions — but for a short hour they could pretend everything was fine, that she wasn't slowly drifting away due to ... What was it again? Liam's voice rung in his ears like the ghost he now was. 

“To bear coo low sees! Jesus, Killy, it is not that difficult!” Pre-teens, what total snobs they were.

A sensitive kid he was once, carefully threading the weak stems together, hopefully dreaming a young woman with blonde hair and understanding green hours would approach him to buy his masterpiece. She'd be a princess, Killian figured, she'd offer to pay him more than needed. Through a young boys eyes, Royalty was still the epitome of generosity and kindness. 

Except there was no such thing as kind Princesses and if there were, none ever heard of Killian and Killian never heard of them. 

He would be over it eventually, replacing that loss with a sense of righteousness. The Navy, now that was the epitome of kindness, protecting to others whom you didn't exactly know, but kindness regardless. It was the right thing to do. Then it all went wrong, Royalty, the Navy it was all a two-headed monster working hand in hand. Liam's loss drove him to do terrible things, but not nearly as terrible as what he did to his Milah. He'd find glimmers of hope, of starting over and time after time they all led him to misery. Though, he wouldn't stop finding purposes. Now too selfish of a man to give up the luxury of living, even at his age. Revenge was a hypnotizing mistress and all he could fill his mind off her while his mouth stuck to alcohol.

No, he wasn't becoming this Gregory Jones persona. He hadn't left. There was nothing— no one for him to abandon. A hidden victory hidden among tragedies.

He would drink to that.

——

Now, there was a queen who had crossed his path. She fancied hearts, something that must've ran in her family, he thought. Unstoppable, Cora seemed, so he'd follow. 

It was the next day — for him at least, time worked as it pleased in other realms, he was living proof of it — he found a new purpose in the form of a frowning and stubbornly suspicious Savior. 

It was until the moment he was tied to a tree, almost smelling the odor of starving ogres, that recognition hit him. He saw beaten flowers brought back to life and serum that could not only cure a bloody cough but also heartache. Killian Jones surrendered then even if he knew the implications inside out already. This would be different, the little voice inside his head was reassuring. 

Turns out eight-year olds did know better, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I made a name up for Killian's dad, sue me. I have so many headcanons for this sodding pirate, as you can see I tried to squeeze as many in there.


End file.
